


I Heard There Was A Secret Gourd (That David Carved)

by CBlue



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Monsters, Author is A Poor Sap with little Skill only the Desire to express emotions, Break Up and Make Up, Friends to Lovers, Halloween Special, Happy Ending, M/M, Modern AU, No Beta We Die With Our Schedule Being Too Thin, Pumpkin carving, WWC Bingo Fill, except the outsider is Ciri, i guess, outsider pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:27:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26992162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CBlue/pseuds/CBlue
Summary: When Jaskier and Geralt have a fight that leaves just Geralt and Ciri carving the pumpkin this year, Cirilla can't help but wonder why adults have to be socomplicatedand why a happy ending for her family is so hard to find.~~~~~~~~~~Written for the Witcher Writer's Circle Bingo! The prompt was autumn!
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 8
Kudos: 161





	I Heard There Was A Secret Gourd (That David Carved)

**Author's Note:**

> No thoughts, just feelings. I've still got a few prompts to fill out on my bingo card if you want to check them out here at [corancoranthemagicalman](https://corancoranthemagicalman.tumblr.com/post/631882507971870720/as-part-of-the-witchers-writer-circle-discord)!!

The laughter of children as they ran along the sidewalk outside was but a muted noise within the apartment inhabited by Geralt Rivia and his goddaughter Cirilla. The young tween sighed boredly as she stared at the scattered patterns. Miscellaneous eyes and mouths meant to be traced on the gourd met her gaze as she sighed again. Drumming her fingers against her cheek, Cirilla turned to face her godfather.

“Geralt?” She called for his attention. From beside her, Geralt stood a towering sight. His shirt was rolled to his forearm and his chest covered with an apron splashed with gourd innards. The spoon in his hand was deep within the vegetable, scooping out its insides and beginning to scrap the walls to ensure a clean gourd.

“Yes, Cirilla?” Geralt answered distractedly, focusing on the work in front of him.

Cirilla huffed, pushing away the patterns and crossing her arms. “I thought you said Jaskier was supposed to help us with this.”

Geralt’s movements stilled, his stony features lost their intimidating effect when smeared with orange. Not that Cirilla was often intimidated by her godfather. “He can’t make it,” he eventually answered, voice scrapping just like the spoon in his hand.

Furrowing her brow, Cirilla sat straighter in her seat at the table. “Is he okay?” Concern painted her tone like the gourd guts painted Geralt’s figure. He was rather messy when it came to carving, apparently, despite his precision with a knife. It seemed his abilities did not extend to handling a spoon.

Cirilla digressed, continuing to burrow her gaze into Geralt despite his silence. “Geralt?” She pressed. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine,” Geralt grunted, aggressively handling the gourd. “We can carve the pumpkin on our own.”

A pout formed without Cirilla meaning to. “But Jaskier _promised_ to carve the _gourds_ with us this year.”

Geralt paused, turning to face Cirilla. The spoon in his hand wavered in still action as his mouth seemed hesitant to provide answer or comfort. Closing his eyes and inhaling sharply, Geralt turned back to face the gourd. “It’s a _pumpkin_ , and Jaskier had other things to do.”

“But Jaskier _never_ breaks his promises.” Cirilla looked back to the patterns mockingly smiling up at her. “And he’d draw better faces for the gourds than this.”

“Cirilla,” Geralt spoke sharply, causing Cirilla to jump in her seat and face him. His hands were held in the caverns of the gourd as he looked firmly to her. His brow was heavy against his bright eyes that seemed somehow dimmer than they had the day they bought the gourds with Jaskier. “This is a _pumpkin_ and we are going to choose one of those faces and you are going to trace it.”

Blinking in surprise at Geralt’s bluntness, Cirilla turned away from him again and looked to the smiling jack-o-lantern prints. She brushed her fingertips gently against the closest pattern. “This is fine, I guess…” Cirilla spoke softly, eyes downcast at the jovial faces.

Geralt exhaled slowly beside her. She could hear him remove his hands from the gourd and place the spoon on the plastic beside the large jack-o-lantern to be. He wiped his hands on the bottom of his apron before kneeling beside Cirilla and placing his hands on the arm of her chair.

“Cirilla,” he spoke again, this time much softer. “I… Jaskier and I aren’t… on the best of terms right now.” Geralt sighed, turning to face away from her as if to search for his words. “It’s… complicated.”

“But why does it have to _be_ complicated?” Cirilla frowned, placing her hands atop Geralt’s own. “You guys love each other, don’t you?”

Geralt looked taken aback, blinking rapidly before coming back to himself. “Sometimes…” taking care with his words, Geralt smiled bittersweetly. “Sometimes things don’t work out. Even when we want them to.”

Frowning, Cirilla could feel her lip wobble despite herself. “But you said love was that we find a way to _make_ it work.”

He sighed, pushing himself to stand before brushing the hair that had fallen into his face behind his ear. “And sometimes… _love_ … is letting go.”

“But…” Cirilla started again, ceaseless questions plaguing her mind with imaginary scenarios that would tear them apart. “But I don’t want to let Jaskier go, Geralt.” She spoke honestly, looking at him imploringly.

Inhaling sharply again, Geralt nodded. His face seemed to steel, hands flexing at his side before he turned to reach for the spoon once again. “It’s up to Jaskier now if he wishes to stay or go, Ciri.” Geralt nearly whispered before attempting to finish scrapping the gourd.

“Alright,” Cirilla said finally. “Alright, Geralt.” She affirmed, placing her arm on Geralt’s forearm and curling her hand around it.

Sharing the smile with Cirilla, Geralt hummed gently. The scrapping of the spoon within the gourd joined the autumn melody of kids screaming with delight. Cirilla swung her feet gently, humming a song Jaskier had written for her birthday in a forlorn way. Autumn was the season of things beginning to change, of departure and falling. 

A knock on the door interrupted the solemn serenity that laid between them. Cirilla looked to Geralt questioningly only to be met with a singular arched brow returning the sentiment silently. He wiped his hands once more, leaving the spoon to rest in the gourd before taking measured steps toward the hall. Geralt turned the corner and Cirilla could no longer see him. She could hear his footsteps slowly making their way to the front door followed by the silence of Geralt undoubtedly peering through the hole.

After a moment, Cirilla heard voices. They were soft and she could not make out their words. When still they remained, she quietly pushed back her chair. Tip-toeing to follow Geralt, Cirilla peered from the corner. Geralt’s large frame blocked her vision, shielding the visage of their guest, but Cirilla knew that voice by heart.

“I know you don’t want me here,” Jaskier spoke softly and Cirilla was beginning to believe it was for her benefit. “But I promised Cirilla that I’d be here and I shan’t break it to her.”

There was a grunt from Geralt, a simple shake of his shoulders in a half-formed shrug that allowed Cirilla a momentary glimpse of Jaskier. His normally porcelain skin looked pale, eyes sunken deep from lack of well rest. _Tired_ , Cirilla thought sadly. He looked as tired as Geralt had these last few days. The musician was always a sheer curtain to be seen through, however, and his state was more clearly displayed.

Jaskier sniffed, a curious noise fluttering from his throat that sounded much like one of the wounded animals Cirilla had been forced to watch in a documentary at school. “You’ve already started carving the gourd.”

“Pumpkin,” Geralt corrected quickly, the response barely given any more thought other than to continue their conversation. Cirilla had noticed Geralt was prone to that in Jaskier’s presence, saying things quickly as to encourage Jaskier to keep speaking. “It’s a pumpkin.”

Cirilla could hear the eye roll come from Jaskier. The man huffed a barely-there breath before continuing. “I’ve told you before, Geralt, a pumpkin _is_ a gourd and we can _both_ be correct.”

Another grunt of acknowledgment was admitted from Geralt. He turned his face a quarter away from Jaskier before resuming a straightforward posture. “You’ve gotten Cirilla calling it a gourd now too.”

“That’s because it _is_ a gourd,” Cirilla could hear Jaskier laugh. “...I know you and I are not well with one another. You’ve already told me what you thought of me.” He confessed softer, quieter than his previous whispering that made Cirilla strain to hear. “But if you would allow me to keep my promise to Cirilla for this one afternoon, I promise I’ll be out of your hair for good.”

Eyes wide, Cirilla waited with bated breath for Geralt’s response. She had _missed_ Jaskier all of these days without him. It had been expected the first few days after they had bought the gourd. He was busy with the record label and other things that Cirilla did not quite understand about his business, but then _after_ he had been gone too.

Cirilla liked the man Geralt tried to be when Jaskier was around. Her godfather had always been kind to her, trying to communicate even where he was born a reticent person. But Jaskier had the uncanny ability of bringing out Geralt’s humor. Of making his eyes shine and his smile widen. It made the apartment feel more like _home_ when Jaskier would grab his guitar and practice a new song all the while Cirilla did her homework and Geralt cooked dinner.

She had hoped now that Geralt had settled into this one place for her, he would want things to make this seem like home too. That Jaskier would seem like home for the both of them.

When Geralt still had not responded leaving Jaskier to sigh sweetly and brokenly into the silence, Cirilla pushed herself from her hiding space to give her speed. Her socks slid in the carpeted hallway, nearly making her lose balance as she ran into Geralt’s back.

“You can’t let him leave!” Cirilla pronounced loudly. “You have to ask him to stay!”

Geralt turned, allowing himself to see Cirilla better and for Cirilla to see Jaskier better too. The musician straightened his posture. Put on a porcelain mask and a stage-worthy smile. Cirilla was only saved the genuine spark to his eyes at the sight of her, the last sign that he was happy to see her and not merely putting on a face. Cirilla could not help but wonder if it was a brave face to stave off the heartbreak Jaskier had written across his face in bagged and hollowed eyes.

“Cirilla!” Geralt chided, having caught on to her eavesdropping. His eyes flickered toward Jaskier for a moment and then resumed their reprimanding gaze toward Cirilla. “What did we say?”

“I know you said love is letting them go!’” She furrowed her brow, eyes biting from threatening tears. “But you also said Jaskier gets to choose if he wants to stay with us or not! Why can’t we let him know we need him?” Cirilla clenched her hands into fists at her sides. Hiccuping from the sudden onslaught of emotion, Cirilla looked to Jaskier. “Don’t you want to stay?”

Even to her own ears her voice sounded quite small. Cirilla was reminded of Cindy-Lou down in Whoville. They had begun practice for the Christmas play last month. She had committed to playing the part of Cindy-Lou but now more than ever she understood the girl’s emotions, trying to be heard in a room full of adults who won’t listen.

“Ciri,” Jaskier said gently. “It’s more complicated than that-”

“Why does it have to be _complicated?!_ ” Cirilla gave a frustrated cry. “Geralt says it’s complicated! You say it’s complicated! If you both love each other, why does it have to be complicated? Why can’t we be a family?” The girl inhaled sharply, catching her breath.

It had been so long since she had a family. Her parents had passed when she was very young, leaving her to her grandmother. Once her grandmother too had passed, it was Geralt who had become her legal guardian. The man had been a bounty hunter, constantly roaming and living in his van. Now, though, there was an apartment. A P.O box. Teacher-parent meetings and Neighborhood watch gatherings. There was a _home_ and a _family_ and Cirilla wanted it.

Jaskier chewed his lip, bending on one knee to become more level with her. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and squeezed affectionately. “Because when you become old men like us things get complicated. And sometimes you hurt each other, even when you don’t mean to.” He chuckled, offering Cirilla a smile similar to the bittersweet one Geralt had given her earlier. “And sometimes you don’t know how to mend what you broke. How to move on.”

“You say you’re sorry,” Cirilla furrowed her brow, looking from Jaskier to Geralt. “You said when we make mistakes we say we’re sorry. That doesn’t mean they’ll forgive us, but we recognize we did wrong and we want to do better.” She turned back to Jaskier. “Don’t you want to do better?”

The musician pulled away, standing and brushing dirt that wasn’t there off of his trousers. “I want to be a better man, Ciri.” He spoke earnestly. “I aim for that every day.” His eyes were the color of blue that one used to draw tears. There were no words spoken for a moment, something silently communicated between Jaskier and Geralt like adults were of wont to do, and then Jaskier tightened his jacket around his waist.

“I best be off,” he drew out slowly. “Sorry I missed the gourd carving, princess.”

“We haven’t even started carving yet,” Cirilla begged once more. “Geralt just finished gutting the gourd.”

Geralt huffed, body a mountain of granite that was unreadable to Cirilla. “It’s _pumpkin_ carving,” he argued futally.

Chuckling wetly, Cirilla wiped at her eyes with her sleeve. “Will you carve your own before you get trick-or-treaters?”

He smiled, nodding slowly as he shuffled his hands into his pockets. “If I have the time. Unfortunately, it seems like everyone is beginning to feel the Christmas rush rather early this year.”

“Tell me about it,” Geralt spoke up, eyes finally meeting Jaskiers. “Cirilla is already rehearsing for the school’s Christmas production.”

Jaskier’s eyes sparked once again, turning to face Cirilla. “And what are you doing this year, princess?”

Cirilla smiled, willing her tears to keep at bay. Jaskier spoke as if this was a goodbye and yet retained the notion that this was an ordinary day. “I’m going to be Cindy-Lou.”

“Cindy-Lou?” Jaskier gasped excitedly. “Oh, I bet you’ll be the best Who down in Whoville the world has ever seen.”

They smiled at one another until Cirilla felt her heart catch on the fading of Jaskier’s smile. He chuckled awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot as he stood in their doorway. Normally, Jaskier looked like he belonged anywhere. At the moment, he appeared out of place.

“I best be going,” he repeated himself. “Like I said, things to do, unfortunately.” Offering another smile, Jaskier let out a measured exhale, but before he could move Geralt halted him.

“Jaskier,” he spoke gently. Geralt’s body remained immobile, but his voice was enough to freeze Jaskier’s retreat. He thought over his words carefully before speaking. “Cirilla can’t decide on a pattern for the… _gourd_.”

Blinking in surprise, Jaskier seemed to shake himself before scoffing. “That’s because you went out and bought those cheap patterns, didn’t you?” He shook his head. “All of those are rubbish. You’ve got to draw your own if you want to make the best… _pumpkin_ carving.” Jaskier plucked his words like a chord, measuring Geralt’s movements with care and precaution.

Another silent conversation transpired, another one that Cirilla was not privy too. However, this time Cirilla could spot Geralt’s nod, Jaskier’s in return. The slow smile creeping across Geralt’s features as Jaskier grinned near helplessly.

“What are we waiting out here then?” He let out a dramatic scoff. “It’s so _chilly_ in this damn hall. You’d think that your landlord would have that _fixed_ by now.” Jaskier complained as he stepped into the apartment, undoing his jacket and beginning to hang it on its place beside the door.

“He didn’t fix it in the summer; he won’t fix it in the fall.” Geralt let out a huff of breath.

Rolling his eyes, Jaskier turned to Cirilla. “One day, you will become queen and banish all landlords.”

Nodding enthusiastically, Cirilla beamed in return. “Of course.” Reaching for Jaskier’s hand, she lead him to the table. “Geralt’s almost done with the gutting.”

“Oh, I see.” Jaskier drew out. “He’s really good with sharp things, isn’t he?” He winked playfully, laughing with Cirilla.

Cirilla could see from the corner of her eye that Geralt had been given pause. He stopped form a distance, watching them as they stood before the table. His face was still coated in the gourd’s guts and his apron splashed with bright orange. Geralt looked a different man than the one who had picked her up from Mousesack’s. That neighbor of her grandmother’s had been a kind soul. Too good to Cirilla. She would have to ask Geralt about visiting him.

But for now, she raised an eyebrow at Geralt, questioning without words. Once more silently, Geralt smiled, nodding his head and beginning to move forward.

“The gourd will be finished by the time you find the right face for it.” Geralt informed them, moving to resume his place in front of the gourd.

Jaskier nodded, turning to Cirilla. “Do you have any tracing paper? Might help us while we’re designing what will be the grandest pumpkin of your entire street.”

“I do!” Cirilla answered. “I keep it in my room.” Excitedly, she began to step backwards. “I’ll be right back!” If she sounded anxious, she could not help it. There was a fear, cold and uncertain that lay in her heart that Jaskier and Geralt would not be able to overcome their complications. Why did old men have to be complicated?

Shaking her head, Cirilla hurried to her room. She immediately strode to her desk, pulling out her crafting drawers as she tired to remember which carried her tracing paper. Her movements paused when she caught her eye on her last drawing that had been haphazardly taped to the wall in secret.

On sturdy construction paper lay four figures. To the farthest right was Yennefer dressed as a sorceress. Cirilla loved Yennefer and could not wait for her to come over during the holiday season. She was such a busy woman, perhaps busier than Jaskier, and she could not be seen often. But she was quite funny and very pretty.

To that figure’s right was a man or larger statue. Cirilla’s representation of Geralt stood solemnly with a cartoonish furrow to his brow. He was armored like a knight with swords protruding from harnesses on his back.

Geralt’s other side was flanked by Cirilla herself. She had drawn what she thought resembled her features garbed in a traditional princess costume, hat and all. Cirilla wasn’t sure how she felt about the hat. It looked too flat on the paper, but she liked the costume and it looked pretty enough.

The last figure in the drawing was Jaskier. He held a guitar that looked nothing like a guitar in his hand. It was much too small and the piece at the top was too bent. Cirilla thought it looked like a bastard guitar, but she would never tell Geralt she thought of a dirty word. Not when he tried so hard to mind the language he had always been used to before her.

Together they were a family, _Cirilla’s_ family, and she would do anything to keep them. To ask them to stay. She hoped they wanted to stay. Smiling, Cirilla resumed her search, finding the tracing paper shortly after. Cirilla snatched it quickly, hurrying again down the hall despite Geralt’s reprimand for her not to run in the apartment.

Cirilla stopped short of the dining room, watching as Geralt buried gourd covered hands into Jaskier’s hair, and Jaskier in kind held tightly to his apron. It was a slow kiss, the sort you saw in movies where pretty music played and people cooed about it while watching. Maybe this was their happy ending and the screen would fade to black. But while the audience got stuck watching the credits roll, Cirilla would get to live happily ever after.

And it wouldn’t even be the end.


End file.
